


Tastes of Winter

by Vagabond



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M, i need a hobby, snowpocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:44:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagabond/pseuds/Vagabond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a snowstorm brewing and Reese decides to check in on Finch. It becomes a lot more than either of them expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mexican Hot Chocolate

**Author's Note:**

> I live in a place where we get snow, but not very much because we're below sea level. Last weekend we got nearly a foot of snow and the city was pretty much shut down unless you had chains. I was cooped up inside, gave myself the prompt of "Mexican hot chocolate" (because I was craving some) and went at it. It was meant to be a short story but turned into more. There will be at least two chapters and then maybe an epilogue. I'm not sure. I just hope I didn't totally butcher Finch's voice. I'm still getting a feel for the POI crew. 
> 
> Giving it an explicit warning because I know what happens and it toes the line. I'll just be safe.
> 
> Chapter two to come hopefully soon. It was originally going to stop with this but I couldn't stop.

The snow had been falling for hours. Finch had been impassively observing it from a window in the library when Mr. Reese approached and informed him the storm was going to get worse and that they should both head to warmer ground. Finch offered his companion nothing more than a nod and an assurance that he would be just fine and Mr. Reese was more than welcome to begin the trek to where ever it was he planned to wait out the storm. 

He’d felt the other man hesitate, knew that Reese’s muscles were tense, that there was something he wanted to say or do. At times Finch marveled at how Reese managed to remain so contained. Sometimes he hated it, because there was a small part of him that would not have minded being dragged out of the library and into a warm apartment. 

Reese was there one moment and gone the next without a word. Finch didn’t even have to look to know he was gone. 

Eventually Finch took his friend’s advice and made the trek home. The weather seemed to have silenced the Machine (or else she was protecting him again, which was a disturbing thought – almost as disturbing as the realization he had once again mentally assigned a gender to a machine) so there were no numbers and therefore nothing to keep him in the library. 

He went home. Or, he went to one of his homes. It was the one he favored, the one he would hate to give up one day if his cover was ever compromised. It was a smaller brownstone with three bedrooms and two baths and walls of books. Stashed away upstairs in a box under a floorboard are pictures of his old life. If that doesn’t make this place home, then he wasn’t sure anything would. 

Bear knew the house and hurried inside, nails scraping against the hardwood floors as he took off to sniff around and make sure everything was in order. Finch couldn’t help but smile a little as he shut and locked the door, sliding the chain into place. One glance out a nearby window told him he had gotten home just in time because the snow the wind were picking up. It was going to be quite a storm. 

With a sigh of relief he stiffly went about removing his clothing. He stripped down to socks, trousers, and his dress shirt, vest, and tie. It was as close to casual as he ever got. Bear had returned and wuffled at him with ears forward and tail wagging. That earned the dog a fond pat on the head before Finch made his way to the kitchen. Of course Bear followed him, no doubt holding out for treats. 

If Finch sneaked him one while pawing through the cabinets with his free hand, well, that was just a secret between friends. 

It had been nearly a week since he had been home – really home – and he realized that his cupboards and fridge were looking a bit bare. He had half a dozen eggs, Chinese takeout, and a few pieces of fruit. With a look of displeasure he immediately dumped the Chinese takeout down the garbage disposal and tossed the containers into the garbage. That left eggs and a few piece of fruit. 

He poked around the freezer and found it to be a bit more hopeful. There was a frozen chicken breast, some green beans that were probably freezer burnt but still edible, a couple of pork chops, and popsicles. It would be enough to get him by for the next day or so if he were snowed in, but any longer than that and he was going to have to consider paying his personal shopper a hefty fee to replenish his provisions. 

Finch leaned back against the counter for a moment, arms crossed over his chest as he stared at the snow falling. It was wet snow. Not the dry powdery stuff that made people without a back injury who did things like snowboarding and skiing happy. This was the kind that would quickly turn to ice in below freezing temperatures. The kind that was good for making snowballs and snowmen, but terrible for driving. It was the kind of snow that made a man want to stay inside where it was warm and drink Mexican hot chocolate. 

The snow made Finch bitter for a moment because he realized it made him wish Grace was there. On a day like this he would find her curled up on the couch under a pile of blankets with a good book in her hands. There would be a giant mug of Mexican hot chocolate sitting on the coffee table steaming, cooling to a point of drinkability. Finch had always been a tea person, especially on cold days, but when Grace insisted he had to try Mexican hot chocolate he became a believer. There was nothing better than warm, thick chocolate doctored up with a myriad of spices on a snowy day to chase away the cold. 

Right as he got to the point he thought he could actually hear Grace laugh at something she just read from the other room, Bear whined and nudged his hand with a cold, wet nose. Finch was back in reality, in his big empty house that he suddenly hated. He also hated the snow. 

There was a knock at the door and for a moment it distracted him from his bitter thoughts. It was unexpected and made him uncomfortable. If he were more like Reese, he’d have a weapon somewhere nearby that he could draw and point at the door until he knew whoever was on the other side was a friend and not a foe. He wasn’t Reese, though, and weapons made him more uncomfortable than the knock on the door. Plus, he had Bear, who was a weapon unto himself. 

The dog led the way, padding quickly over to the door and standing at attention. He wasn’t Finch’s pet in this moment. Bear was the protector, set and ready to do what he was trained to do. That made Finch feel better as he slid the chain out of place and unlocked the door. Bear growled, but it soon turned into happy whining as the door opened to reveal no one other than Mr. Reese, looking soaked from the snow. He had a wilted paper bag clutched to his side, and a plastic bag in the other hand. 

“Mr. Reese.” Finch swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. Of course Mr. Reese knew where he lived. They’d been working together long enough that Finch had allowed the information to be uncovered. Whether Reese knew that the only reason he knew where Finch lived was because it was Finch’s will was a different issue. All he knew was at that moment Reese looked cold, wet, and downright sheepish. 

Finch had half a mind to leave the other man standing there. He wanted to shut the door, lock it, and pretend that Mr. Reese wasn’t standing on his doorstep. There were too many things to consider in a situation like this. Mr. Reese knew where he lived and Finch had known Reese had known, but he hadn’t intended that knowledge to lead to his partner turning up on his front doorstep in the middle of a snowstorm. The knowledge wasn’t an invitation into Finch’s life. Then again, what was it? Why would he have let his shield of privacy falter in Mr. Reese’s relentless search? He hadn’t really thought it through, that much was obvious. Or else it had been a subconscious move, because deep down he kind of wanted Reese to find him. 

“Uh, Finch, I normally wouldn’t try to disturb you from analyzing the situation…but this bag is about to break.” Reese still looked sheepish as he motioned with his head to the wet paper bag and it was enough to break Finch out of his train of thought. 

“Of course, come in. My apologies.” He could think about his compromised privacy later, when there wasn’t a snow storm raging outside and when Reese didn’t look like he was freezing cold. Finch stepped back and allowed the other man into the house. “The kitchen is, ah, just that way…” he pointed and Reese walked wordlessly through the sitting room and toward the kitchen. 

Finch realized too late that his companion hadn’t removed his shoes and therefore had trailed muddy snow across his hardwood floor. He grimaced internally and shut the door quickly, locking it, before searching a hallway cupboard for a towel to try and wipe up the mess. He was in the middle of using his foot and the towel to clean away the wetness when he felt like someone was staring at him. 

"Did you manage to avoid a bag catastrophe, Mr. Reese?" Finch asked without even looking up. 

"Yes. Would you like me to help you with..." He fell silent as Finch finished wiping up the mess and bent down to pick up the towel. "Never mind. I should probably take off my shoes." Reese brushed past Finch and headed to the door. Still holding the towel, Finch followed his companion and looked him over. 

"You are soaking wet. Give me your jacket and dress shirt. I will put them in the dryer so that you will have something dry to wear." He tried to ignore the curious look he was getting from Reese. While Finch was disturbed by his unexpected visitor, he wasn't going to be a poor host. Also, a small part of him didn't want Reese's clothes to be ruined. 

Reese's was removing his clothes slowly. First his overcoat which Finch took. Then his suit jacket before he began undoing the buttons on his dress shirt. Finally that was off and Finch had an armful of damp clothes. He turned and made his way through the kitchen to the small utility room where his washer and dryer were, leaving Reese in an undershirt and trousers. After putting the clothes on to dry he stepped back into the kitchen and watched with a measure of curiosity as Reese went about the kitchen, grabbing this and that, preparing something on the stove top.

"Certainly, Mr. Reese, feel free to make yourself at home." Finch drawled, scowling just slightly. Though it didn't last long when Reese turned those blue eyes on him and looked, damnit, sheepish again. There was something about the look that made Finch think Reese probably got away with a lot in high school simply because he had the ability to seem so apologetic even when he had to know he was causing trouble. 

"I went home, Finch. Back to that apartment. I sat for a while, heard the storm was going to get worse, and wanted to make sure you weren't at the library. After I was sure of that I thought I should check in with you. Phones might go down during the storm and I didn't want to be out of touch. Then I thought, I know you aren't going to like me showing up on your doorstep, but I figured I would bring a peace offering." He motioned toward the pot on the stove. 

"And what did you bring, Mr. Reese?" Finch felt the irritation fading. If he hadn't wanted this to happen, he wouldn't have allowed Reese to uncover his address. He was every bit as responsible for this as his friend was. 

"Mexican hot chocolate. I don't know if you've ever had it..." Reese kept talking but Finch couldn't hear him. What were the odds? Finch was trying to calculate them in his head, trying to turn a coincidence into numbers because numbers had a tendency to make more sense. Grace, snow days, Mexican hot chocolate, Reese showing up at his front door, if each of these had a numerical value maybe he could begin to understand why he was suddenly feeling deeply uncomfortable and a little sick.

A hand on his shoulder brought him out of a world of numbers and back into his kitchen. Reese was leaning down, blue eyes peering into Finch's. He was concerned. Finch could see it in the slight wrinkle of Reese's forehead, the curve of his lips, his drawn eyebrows. His friend was a study in subtly but Finch could read him plain as day.

"Harold?" He asked quietly, squeezing Finch's shoulder gently. 

"My apologies, Mr. Reese. I got lost in thought. The hot chocolate sounds fine. I will be in the other room." He had to escape, put distance between him and Reese and the damn hot chocolate. Yes, he was aware Reese wanted to say something but he wasn't in the mood to hear it. Instead, he shrugged the other man's hand off of his shoulder and left the kitchen. 

In the living room he could breathe again. He collapsed onto the sofa and exhaled, letting his head fall against the back of the couch. Everything was wrong. It was all strange and he felt thrown off. For a man who enjoyed a carefully controlled environment, the current situation was beyond stressful. He was startled from his deep breathing by a whine and a nudge from a wet nose. 

"Hello, Bear." He murmured softly, opening his eyes to peer down at his canine companion. The dog whined again and lifted his paw to put it on his knee. Sometimes it concerned Harold how human dogs could be. He rubbed the top of Bear's head as he tried to clear his mind. 

It was fifteen minutes later when Reese entered the room and Finch appreciated being given space to breathe. His friend had two steaming mugs of hot chocolate in hand and set one down on the coffee table in front of Finch. The other he kept in his own hands and perched on the arm of a plush chair across from his employer. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" Reese asked carefully and Finch knew he was really being given the option. That was something he liked about Reese: if Finch didn't want to talk about it, he didn't have to. He picked up the mug and allowed it to warm his hands as he inhaled the sweet spicy scent of the hot chocolate. The silence stretched between them, broken only when Bear moved across the floor to his dog bed and dropped down onto it. 

"I don't think there is anything in particular to talk about, Mr. Reese." That was almost a lie and Finch didn't like how it felt on his lips. "I had been...reminiscing before you arrived. About Mexican hot chocolate nonetheless. Then you appeared with it and it caught me off guard." That felt better, truthful without divulging the whole truth.

Reese just stared at him in that way he does, as if he is trying to see beneath Finch's skin, trying to get inside so that he can begin to have a better understanding of just who it is he works for. Finch hates that stare. It makes him feel vulnerable, warm, and comfortable all at once. 

"Thank you." Reese finally spoke, his eyes softening in a way that made Finch feel bad for ever being irritated. God forbid someone care enough about him to check up on him and bring him hot chocolate during a snow storm, right? Finch sighed and waved his hand dismissively before it returned to his mug. He took a sip of the hot chocolate and a pleased hum escaped his lips. 

"This is very good, Mr. Reese. It is you I should be thanking." The two lapsed into silence and sipped their hot chocolate. 

"Did you have this planned any further than getting here and making me hot chocolate, Mr. Reese?" Finch inquired, breaking the silence after a few minutes. He'd finally had time to collect his thoughts. 

"Not really. It was a bit spur of the moment." Reese shrugged and took a sip of his hot chocolate. "I was sitting in my apartment and realized that was the last place I wanted to be." 

Finch hummed thoughtfully, studying Reese from across the room. There was something pleasing and affirming in the fact that the other man had chosen him to spend a snow day with. Not alone, not with Zoe, not at a bar, but with him.

"Did you have something planned, Finch?" It was an innocent enough question with a very simple answer. 

"No. Certainly not. I thought perhaps I would get some reading done. Clean this place up a bit. Busy work, really." He shrugged and glanced down at his mug full of sweet, milky brown chocolate. "We are quite the pair, you and I. Not sure what to do, no idea how to spend a snow day, yet we both know we didn't really want to spend it alone." Finch took another drink before setting it on the coffee table. 

"Look, Harold, if this is making you uncomfortable..." The offer was unspoken, but Finch knew his friend would leave in a heartbeat if he knew it was really what he wanted. It wasn’t what he wanted, of course. He wanted Reese there, but it made him uncomfortable that he couldn’t exactly explain why. Something about the operative being there just made it seem better. John’s presence kept the bitterness at bay and the unpleasant thoughts away from his consciousness. He didn’t have to think about Grace or the snow days they’d spent together, and even when he did think of her John seemed to make the memories less painful. Reese misinterpreted the silence and began to get up. 

“I’ll go get my things out of the dryer and be on my way.” Reese murmured and stood, starting toward the kitchen. 

“John,” Finch began and froze when his friend turned and looked at him, waiting, curious, “you don’t need to leave. Please, stay.” He motioned to the couch that he was sitting on and Reese’s eyebrows rose. In a single moment Finch had not only insisted he stay, but had offered what would normally be a breach of personal space. Reese approached and sat down on the couch, shifting so that one of his legs was bent on a couch cushion and he was sitting sideways facing his employer. 

There was something in John’s gaze that brought back that uncomfortable feeling, the one where he knew he wanted something but didn’t really understand what it was he wanted. As a distraction he reached out and picked up his hot chocolate, taking another sip, trying to ignore the pair of blue eyes boring into him. 

“Harold.” The way the other man said his name made him shiver and he realized that they had slipped away from ‘Reese’ and ‘Finch’ and somewhere between where John had been standing and the couch, the two were now ‘John’ and ‘Harold’ sitting together in the middle of a snow storm. Harold loved it and hated it at the same time. 

With his hands still trembling he set his hot chocolate down and felt a strong hand cover one of his own. Somehow without notice Reese had slid over on the couch so that he was nearly pressed against Finch’s side. For a moment, Harold marveled at the hand covering his, how warm, gentle, and outright hesitant it was. John was testing the waters. Something had shifted. 

“You didn’t come just to bring hot chocolate.” Finch breathed out, eyes trained on their hands. 

“No. I used the snowstorm as an excuse.” John answered honestly, and the honesty was appreciated. It certainly made things clearer, even if Finch was still uncomfortable. There was a weight in his stomach, something that he ignored on late night missions. Something he ignored when he heard John’s soft voice on the other end of the line talking about nothing as he wound down after a mission. He’d ignored it in Rome when Reese said it was time to get back to work. 

Finch watched as Reese turned his hand over and stroked a rough, calloused thumb across the palm. He inhaled sharply when he felt the other man’s free arm go around his waist. He swallowed hard when Reese gently brushed his nose to Harold’s cheek and then whispered his name in a way that told him all he needed to know. 

Yet John didn’t make another move. He waited. He gave space even when they were so close. 

So Finch turned his head just slightly and their lips met.


	2. Dinner for Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awkward failures, dinner for two, a jaunt in the snow, and then relief for both Reese and Finch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second chapter. This one was frustrating to write because I wanted the boys to go one way and they wanted to go an entirely different way...which made this whole story end up as 15 pages in a word document when I was expecting five. I hope I frustrate you just as much as I was frustrated...and then hopefully you'll get your relief.
> 
> I can't decide who leads in this relationship. Ack. Epilogue will come after this chapter.

Their lips were pressed together for only a moment before the angle became uncomfortable for Finch and he pulled back, grimacing. Reese sat back. 

“Harold?” There was concern in his voice and Finch just shook his head and shifted stiffly so that he was mirroring his friend’s position on the couch. He had one foot planted firmly on the ground, the other up on the couch bent partially under him. They could face each other now. 

“I’m fine, John. I just have a stiff back. It gets in the way sometimes.” There was a note of irritation in his voice that he regretted. “My apologies. I’m frustrated because old injuries keep me from doing simple things like initiating a kiss without facing the person. It makes it difficult for me to be romantic.” 

Apparently he’d said something funny because now Reese was laughing. It was a beautiful sound that came bubbling out of the other man, but Finch wasn’t amused. As far as he could tell, he hadn’t said anything that was remotely amusing. 

“Sorry, Finch,” Reese caught his breath and stared openly, smiling, “but I don’t think a back injury making it uncomfortable to kiss me by turning your head makes you any less romantic.” With that said, he leaned in and they were kissing again, this time with more fervor. One of John’s hands rested warmly against the back of his neck, the other at his lower back as they kissed. 

He felt Reese’s tongue and opened his mouth in response, tasting the remnant of spiced chocolate and groaning at how strangely arousing that was. There was something about his friend’s hot mouth and the memories of warm nights spent with Grace holding a mug of Mexican hot chocolate that set his nerves on fire. Suddenly he was falling backward and tensed until he realized he wasn’t falling, he was being pushed. John used his weight to pin Harold beneath and he didn’t stand a chance. 

“Okay?” John growled softly, breaking the kiss to trail his mouth along Harold’s jaw. 

It was amazing how quickly they’d gone from awkward and uncomfortable to this. Was it okay? That was a ridiculous question, of course it was. It was more than okay, because that weight in Finch’s stomach had all but dissipated and was replaced with a fiery desire for more. More of John, more of his lips, of his weight settled protectively over him, of those hands, and everything else about him. 

“Harold?” The growl was gone and it was a soft murmur against his ear that made him realize he had, once again, been silent for too long. 

“Yes. Right now I don’t think I could imagine anything more okay than this.” Finch replied, his face hot with embarrassment and arousal. He stared up at John when the other man stared down at him as if he were trying to make sure he was serious and not just saying things. Harold knew John was satisfied with his answer when he felt the other man shift so that one of his knees was between Finch’s legs and they were kissing again. Harold’s hips arched into the contact, hands reaching up for John’s undershirt as he allowed his fingers to curl in the fabric. He tilted his head back as hot, hungry kisses were pressed along his jaw and down his neck. 

“Ah, John,” Harold panted and shuddered when he felt teeth gaze over his Adam’s apple. There was a rumble deep in John’s chest in response and Harold took that as a sign the other man liked hearing his own name. In response he pushed his hips against John’s knee, groaning softly as he realized just how hard he was. Another push of his hips and he grimaced, a soft, pained noise escaping him. Almost immediately Reese shifted back to sit on his haunches, panting softly as he looked over Harold critically. 

“Did I hurt you?” He stroked his fingertips gently along Harold’s clothed hips, concern in his eyes and tone. 

“No, Mr. Reese.” Now Harold was irritated again, frustrated at how his own body was betraying him. The heat of the moment was quickly fading as he struggled to get his legs out from under Reese. He pulled himself up, wincing, turning so that he was sitting with his back against the couch cushions. Silently he cursed himself even as he reached behind and prodded gently at the convulsing muscles in his lower back. 

John watched him silently and Harold felt like a fool. 

“I’m sorry, John.” Harold stated dejectedly as he removed his glasses and rubbed at one of his eyes, his muscles finally relaxing. 

“Don’t apologize. It’s fine.” Reese offered him a faint smile and settled in beside him, their arms touching. Finch appreciated the warmth. 

“I’m afraid I don’t really have much in terms of entertainment,” Harold pointed out after a long bout of awkward silence, frowning slightly, “or for dinner.” 

“It’s alright, Harold. I brought dinner.” Reese replied, and Finch must have looked surprised by the prospect because his friend continued, “I wasn’t just going to barge in without more of a peace offering. I’m not completely antisocial.” He was getting up and Harold just watched him for a moment. 

“Do you need any help in the kitchen?” Finch finally asked, putting his glasses back on. 

“No. Sit, rest, relax.” Reese waved his hand dismissively and walked into the kitchen. Bear got up to follow him. 

Harold was left with his thoughts and his aching back and he wasn’t certain he liked it. The alternative was to follow after John, but he felt he would just be in the way in the kitchen with nothing to offer. So instead he rested his head back against the couch and closed his eyes. He’d only intended to rest for a moment but drifted into a light sleep, his breathing evening out as his entire body relaxed. 

He only realized he’d fallen asleep when Reese woke him up with a gentle nudge to his foot. Starting awake, he swallowed and looked around. It was disorienting because he was expecting to open his eyes and find himself in the library, but instead he was in his home and Reese was standing in front of him. Finally it all came back to his sleep fogged brain and he rubbed one of his eyes, shifting to sit up straight. 

When he finally looked up at John again the other man had a strangely fond look on his face and it brought color to Harold’s cheeks. 

“Is there something you needed, Mr. Reese?” Finch inquired curtly though regretted it the moment John’s face returned to its typical neutral look. 

“Dinner’s ready.” He offered Harold a hand and he accepted it, standing to his feet, ignoring the way John’s other hand instinctively moved to rest on his lower back. 

Finch stepped away and headed for the kitchen, giving Bear a look as the dog appeared to be inhaling his foot. He had an inkling that John added something tasty to their pet’s usual kibble. The thought made him smile and he looked at the stove. 

“Oh. Mr. Reese.” He was pleasantly surprised to find chicken sautéed in some sort of white sauce that smelled wonderfully sitting on the stove next to a pot of linguini. To the side of the stove was fresh broccoli and next to it freshly sliced French bread. “This looks impeccably delicious.” The disbelief must have been evident in his tone from Reese’s response. 

“You don’t just eat MREs in the field, Finch. You have to know how to make more than a sandwich.” John pointed out and Harold tried to seem apologetic. 

“I didn’t mean for it to seem I thought this outside of your range of talents. I simply wasn’t aware.” He offered a half smile. “I’m being genuine when I say it looks delectable and I’m excited to try some.” 

It seemed to sooth Reese’s bruised ego as intended and Finch helped himself to a plate. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until there was food in front of him. With his stomach rumbling Finch took the plate to the table and set it down, returning to the kitchen to get a drink. 

“Would wine suit you, John?” Harold inquired as he perused his wine rack. 

“Sounds fine, Finch.” Reese replied around the fork he had between his teeth as he tried to balance a plate on one hand and a serving spoon on the other. Harold glanced over and resisted the urge to scold. Instead, he picked out a nice red and got out a couple of glasses. 

Soon enough the pair both settled at the table, their dinner in front of them. Good wine, good food, and stunning company put Harold’s mind at ease. It was a break from the norm, from takeout boxes and an empty house. He was even getting a break from the library because, though he loved the library, there had been too many lonely nights spent in front of computer screens without Reese nearby. Without meaning to he scoffed a little to himself. 

“Something funny, Harold?” Reese asked, hitting him with an inquisitive stare. 

“Ah,” he’d been caught in his thoughts, “well, I was just thinking there is a correlation between my sense of wellbeing and you being nearby…” he tried to return Reese’s stare but his gaze faltered slightly and he glanced down at his plate. “What I really mean to say, Mr. Reese, is that I am pleased you came.” 

John responded by reaching out and brushing his fingertips gently over Harold’s knuckles which made him look up at his companion. What he found there was an intense, longing look that was somewhat startling and made him feel warm. 

“I’m glad, Harold.” Reese replied in a low, quiet tone. They just watched each other in silence for a long moment before Harold pulled his hand back to pick up his wine glass. 

“The dinner really is something, John. Thank you for making it.” He was trying to diffuse the tension and push the strange, warm feeling away. 

“You’re welcome.” John replied and they both returned to eating their meals in silence. It seemed like a comfortable silence, John looked to be handling it well, but Harold was brimming barely contained energy. The strange tension in his stomach was back even as he finished up his dinner. Clearly it wasn’t hunger that was ailing him as much as nerves. What he wanted was that moment on the couch again. 

Reese made small talk as they cleaned up the kitchen, Bear attentive to both of them as he trolled for scraps or treats. Once everything was tidied up, Harold poured himself another glass of wine and motioned to offer the bottle to Reese who politely declined. He set the bottle down and hesitated to drink if his companion wasn’t going to, but decided not to waste good wine and took a sip. 

“Come on, Bear. You probably need to go out.” John smiled at the dog who gave a single sharp bark in response before hurrying out of the kitchen toward the back door. Harold was left to his thoughts for which he was grateful as he swirled the wine around in his glass. He needed time to think, to catch his breath and let it sink in that John was here and the other man didn’t appear to be leaving anytime soon. It was strange to see something he’d merely pondered before come to life and become reality. 

Finch wasn’t sure he was comfortable with reality. 

After about ten minutes Bear came barreling back into the kitchen, skidding to a stop as he shook the snow off of himself. Reese wasn’t far behind and came in just as moisture was flying everywhere. Harold must have looked a bit aghast because John had that sheepish look again. 

“I tried to stop him, but it is really coming down out there. I got distracted.” He grinned, flakes of snow melting in his hair. There were goosebumps all along John’s arms and the man looked a bit out of breath. 

“Mr. Reese, you went outside in nothing more than a t-shirt and trousers?” Harold seemed slightly alarmed as he set his wine glass down and grabbed a dish towel. “Do you want to become hypothermic? How long were you out there?” Before he really realized what he was doing, Finch was running the towel over his friend’s chilled arms. 

“I’ve been in colder, Harold.” John’s voice had a soothing effect. “And it is hard to stand inside when Bear is running around like an idiot.” 

“Still, you don’t have a change of clothes and my clothes certainly won’t fit-” Harold stopped when John grabbed the hand wielding the towel. 

“I’ll be fine, Harold.” Reese spoke softly and he must have been waiting for Finch to look up because when he did, John’s other hand moved to rest on his jaw and he leaned in to press their lips together. Harold couldn’t help but shiver as his friend’s chilled fingers stroked along his jaw. 

“I believe you, John.” Harold murmured as he broke the kiss, though he didn’t pull back. Instead, he lifted his own warmer hand to rest over John’s. 

“Good. Now tell me,” John nuzzled Harold’s cheek and kissed the corner of his mouth, “what do you want, Harold?” 

That seemed to be the question of the evening; the one Harold had been wrestling with since John showed up on his doorstep with hot chocolate and dinner. There were a lot of things he wanted. He wanted to not be alone anymore, to help people, to feel Grace’s warmth, and to feel John’s too. It scared him that his desire for his companion was similar to that of his desire for Grace. He wanted to know every inch of him, where every scar came from, which spots make John groan and squirm. It frightened him how dearly he could love two people at once and in that moment he could finally assure himself that he wasn’t replacing Grace or betraying her; there was enough room to love them both. 

“What I want requires fewer clothes and a bed.” Harold pressed his lips to John’s in a brief kiss, smiling into it as he felt the other man hum in reply. 

“Then maybe, Harold, you should lead the way.” Reese sounded breathless and Harold had to admit he liked him this way. 

Reluctantly Finch pulled away and made his way over to the stairs. There was a moment where he felt mildly self conscious as he began his limp-step up the stairs but John was right behind him, a warm and steady presence. They made it up the stairs and into the master bedroom. It was there Finch turned and leaned up to press their lips together again. 

The next thing Harold knew, Reese was tugging off his clothes, undoing his tie and tossing it away, unbuttoning his vest and letting it fall to the ground. Their lips remained pressed together as John claimed his mouth, but Harold made a soft, displeased noise as his pressed dress shirt was tossed carelessly to the ground. 

“Ah, Mr. Reese, you shouldn’t treat clothes like-” he gasped as John’s mouth worked at the juncture of his jaw and neck, forgetting for a moment what it was he wanted to complain about. 

“You were saying?” John purred, looking smug as his fingers curled in the fabric of Harold’s undershirt. 

“Fewer clothes, Mr. Reese. Now.” Harold instructed and was satisfied when his undershirt was yanked up over his head and tossed aside. John removed his own shirt and reached for his fly when he was stopped. 

“Allow me.” Finch’s fingers easily unbuttoned the fly of Reese’s trousers and slowly pulled down the zipper. He heard the other man inhale sharply and couldn’t help a small smile as he pushed the fabric down, getting down onto his knees in the process. 

“Harold…” the way John said his name made him shiver. There was a needy whine to it, but also a note of uncertainty and Harold wished he knew what was going on in the other man’s head. He glanced up at John to find a pair of blue eyes staring intently down at him, gleaming with lust. Leaning in, Harold pressed wet kisses to the bulge in John’s briefs and enjoyed the way the other man pushed his hips forward into it. 

“Have you fantasized about this, Mr. Reese?” Harold practically purred as his fingertips hooked into the waistband of John’s briefs. “What do you want?” It felt better to turn the tables. 

“You, Harold.” Reese replied and Harold immediately pulled down his briefs. All games were tossed aside because those two words made Finch feel flushed, hard, and wanting. It appeared he wasn’t the only one in that state because Reese was hard, too, and glistening with precum which Harold immediately lapped up. He snuck a glance up at the other man and shivered when he realized John was still staring, watching him, clearly not inclined to close his eyes. 

So Harold took John’s cock into his mouth and let his tongue run along the underside. He wasn’t particularly practiced at this sort of thing, his experience rather limited, but he knew what he liked and figured he could just do that and tailor his technique to John’s responses. As his hand stroked what wasn’t in his mouth, Harold realized he was probably thinking way too much about how to give someone a blow job. 

He began bobbing his head, taking more and more of Reese into his mouth. His tongue ran along the underside and then teased the head, one of his hands moving to rest on John’s hip. It was beginning to get easier and he was starting to get into it when he felt fingers curl in his hair and tug gently. Letting John slide out of his mouth, he glanced up at the other man and licked his lips. 

“On the bed, Harold.” There wasn’t any room for argument going by the tone of Reese’s voice, so Harold shifted and began to get up but grimaced slightly. His back had stiffened a bit while he was on his knees. Without a word, John helped him up with firm hands on his elbows, hitting him with a critical, half worried look. 

“John.” Harold smiled and leaned in to press their lips together again, pushing himself against John even though he was still partially clothed. 

As they made their way to the bed, John took care of the clothing issue. Once divulged of all clothing, John’s hands rested on Harold’s hips as they stood right at the end of the bed. They were both panting and Harold felt slightly lightheaded. Everything felt like it was a dream and was going to fall away from him at any minute. Then there was John’s mouth against his mouth, then against his neck and down to his collarbone and he knew it wasn’t a dream. It was really happening. 

“Harold,” Reese purred into his ear, “you’re going to have to lead the way. We’ll do what makes you comfortable.” Harold imagined John had quite a number of possibilities going through his head and was momentarily worried he’d disappoint. However, he let that thought go as Reese nibbled on his earlobe and stroked his thumbs against his hips. Nothing could disappoint Reese at this point, Finch was sure of it. 

Reluctantly he pulled away and got onto the bed, pushing the comforter and blankets back so that he could settle onto the warm, flannel sheets. Once Harold felt settled with his back partially supported by pillows, he looked at John and flushed at what he saw. John was standing at the foot of the bed, his naked body a perfect example of lean muscle and raw power, stroking himself as his eyes roamed over Harold’s body. 

He’d never felt quite this desirable before and it made his mouth go a bit dry. 

The next thing he knew John was on top of him, arms supporting his weight as he leaned in and kissed Harold hard. Lost in the kiss, Harold barely felt the other man lining their bodies up and pressing down against him until both their dicks were wrapped in a strong hand being stroked together. 

“John!” Harold yelped against the other man’s lips as he pushed his hips up into the sensation. “Dear God…” his head thumped back against the pillows as his hands scrambled to hold onto something. One hand ended up in the sheets, fingers curling as he gripped the fabric hard enough to turn his knuckles white. The other hand danced along Reese’s arm, enjoying the way the muscles flexed and moved. 

“Harold,” John growled into his ear, “I’m yours.” 

Harold’s nails dug into John’s arm, back arching slightly as his vision went white and he came. Everything else faded away as he was overtaken by warmth, pressure, and pleasure. Panting harshly he finally felt himself begin to relax, shuddering because John was still stroking them both. 

“Shh, Harold,” John sounded like he was smiling, “relax. Breathe.” Harold listened and tried to do what he was told, focusing in on the warm kisses along his jaw and the slick hand that was now stroking over his stomach. 

Finally, John collapsed beside him and Harold was jealous at how quickly the other man seemed to have it together. For a moment he was worried John hadn’t had his own release, but he opened his eyes and glanced down and saw that he had. Somehow, in the middle of his own climax, he’d missed it. Strangely that was slightly disappointing. 

As if reading his mind, John nuzzled his cheek. 

“There will be plenty of time, Harold, as long as you’re interested.” Reese rested his head on the pillow and his eyes drifted shut for a moment. 

“Interested is an understatement, John.” Finch replied with a chuckle as he finally managed to catch his breath, stretching a little on the bed. He made a face when he realized there was a mess all over his belly. 

“Stay put. I’ll go get something to clean us off.” John insisted as he rolled off of the bed onto his feet, looking flawless all the while. If it were Finch getting up, it would have taken much longer and wouldn’t have looked nearly as neat. So he just remained on the bed, watching John prowl into the on suite bathroom. 

When John returned he had a warm wash cloth and set about to cleaning them both up, running the soft cloth over Harold’s flushed skin. It felt nice but also tickled a bit and Harold couldn’t help but squirm. John smiled and finished up before disappearing back into the bathroom. Returning a final time, he flopped into the bed and yanked the blankets and comforter up over the both of them. 

“How about a nap, Harold?” John asked as he shifted onto his side, blue eyes trained on Finch’s face. 

“Yes, Mr. Reese. Yes.” Harold was tired, his body sore from being in an unfamiliar position and using muscles that hadn’t fallen into disuse. He rolled over onto his side so that his back was to John and then snuggled back against his friend’s chest. When John got the hint and wrapped his arms around his waist, Harold slowly allowed himself to relax back into the embrace. 

They rested together, Harold drifting to sleep knowing he’d wake up to snow and John’s even breathing.


	3. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue! Thanks for reading everyone :-)

A couple of days later the snow was melting and they were finishing up a number that had come in shortly after the worst of the storm had passed. Finch willed himself to ignore the coincidence. The Machine had given them a number and they had been able to save a life and that’s all that mattered. 

Reese had stayed with him during the storm but it didn’t take a genius to know after a day and a half his companion was going stir crazy. Relaxing was not a talent either of them possessed. So John had dug a snow shovel out of a storage closet and made it his job to keep the pathway to the door clear at all costs, even though he was fighting against steadily falling snow. 

Eventually the storm had passed, the new number came, and Reese was out of the house and onto the streets. It was back to routine, and Finch had even managed to get him and Bear out to the library. 

“Mr. Reese, is Ms. Cardigan safely on her way?” Finch inquired as his eyes danced over his computer monitors. 

“Yeah, Finch. Those drug dealers won’t be bothering her again anytime soon.” Reese replied over the comm. 

There was a long stretch of silence which didn’t register with Finch. After all, he was used to the line being open even if nothing was said. He could hear Reese’s soft breathing and the occasional car driving by, but was too preoccupied with the research he was doing to think anything more about the silence. 

“Harold,” Reese began and that caught Finch’s attention, “I was thinking, would you like to go to dinner tonight?” 

It was such a funny request and Harold had a retort ready, something witty about how domestic a request it was, but it died on his lips. 

“Yes, Mr. Reese. I’d like that.” He replied and smiled. For once, Finch allowed the implications of their relational shift drift away in favor of being in the moment. 

“Good. I’ll stop by the library around six, then.” John replied. 

“No, Mr. Reese, I think you ought to stop by my place.” Harold corrected and could almost see John’s eyebrows wrinkle in response. 

“Your place it is, then, Harold.” Reese answered. 

Maybe it was a stupid move, but Finch had a feeling it was a step in the right direction.


End file.
